This is a story about my
mother, Ted Williams and a fishing trip they
took together many years ago. My story is also
about a wonderful kindness Williams did for Mom
about a decade ago when she was down on her
luck.

In 1956 my family moved to San
Juan, Puerto Rico from Los Angeles. Puerto Rico was
encouraging U.S. businesses to open on the island and
the old Sears, Roebuck had just broken ground for its
first store outside the continental U.S.

In the mid-1950s, Williams was a
glad-hander for Sears. The company sent Williams to
Puerto Rico to celebrate the grand opening by inviting
government officials and other U.S. investors. Williams`
visit would be highlighted by a deep-sea fishing trip
with Sears friends and clients.

One afternoon, when my mother
picked me up from school, she announced, "I`m going
fishing with Ted Williams."

You can only imagine the impact
this had on a young teenage boy who was an avid baseball
fan.

Ted Williams! The Kid! The Splendid
Splinter! Teddy Ballgame!

Williams had just come off a great
year having hit .345. He narrowly lost the batting title
to Triple Crown winning Mickey Mantle.

I tried every angle to con an
invitation but kids flat-out weren`t allowed. And adding
to my angst was the cruel fact that I had never seen a
major league baseball game. My professional baseball
experiences were limited to the hometown
Hollywood Stars and the
Puerto Rican League San Juan Senators.

The fateful day of the fishing trip
came and went. My mother reported back that everyone had
a great time and that Williams could not have been more
fun to be with.

In a futile attempt to appease me,
Mom brought me a Sears sporting goods catalog with
Williams` picture on the cover. I threw it away.

I kept up with baseball as well as
I could from Puerto Rico. There wasn`t much—incomplete
box scores from the early editions of the New York
Times, line scores from El Mundo and an
infrequent Armed Forces Radio game of the week.

By 1959, I still hadn`t seen a
major league game but I was going to school on the East
Coast, so I was getting closer. And in June, when Mom
visited the school, she sprung me for a day to see the
Yankees play the Red Sox.

To Mom`s great disappointment,
Williams wasn`t starting that day. Why is anyone`s guess
since the Sox were having a typical lackluster season.

But in the 8th inning,
the public address system blared out, "NOW BATTING FOR
THE RED SOX, NUMBER 9, TED WILLIAMS."

Mom jumped to her feet and yelled,
"Let`s go, Ted!" while Williams gathered a handful of
bats.

I`ll never forget the sight of
Williams striding toward the plate, swinging four bats
over his head to limber up. Williams was the strongest
good hitter baseball ever knew. No one ever hit so many
home runs (521) with such a high career batting average
(.344).

Williams took his stance in the
batter`s box. His gray traveling flannels were baggy. As
was the custom in those days, Williams wore no batting
gloves or helmet.

I wish I could tell you that
Williams hit the ball into the upper deck. But he flied
deep to center field where Mantle easily hauled in the
440 foot out.

Since that early summer afternoon
more than 30 years ago, my passion for baseball has
waxed and waned. But I`ve told the tale about Williams
and the fishing trip to anyone who would listen.

And the story has a heartwarming
footnote. A few years ago, Mom was hospitalized and I
wrote to Williams. I reminded him of his Puerto Rico
visit, the fishing trip and the joy Mom had watching him
at the plate at Yankee Stadium.

I told Williams that Mom was
recuperating from a hospital stay and suggested that her
spirits would be lifted if he dropped her a note.

I never had a doubt that Williams
would write. And sure enough, two weeks later, a pen and
ink sketch of Williams taking his long, level swing
arrived in the mail bearing the inscription:

"To Betty, with every
best wish, your friend, Ted."

Joe Guzzardi [email
him], an instructor in English
at the Lodi Adult School, has been writing a weekly
column since 1988. It currently appears in the
Lodi News-Sentinel.